


all there was, all there is.

by CaptainKyburz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Full Shift Werewolves, Future Fic, M/M, full moon shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKyburz/pseuds/CaptainKyburz
Summary: Scott huffs and headbutts Stiles in the chest, which would be a whole lot more endearing if he wasn’t currently a predator the size of a small horse. It’s still pretty cute, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this began with a joking post i made on tumblr about an au where everything is the same except werewolves turn into the megawolves from twilight. it kind of spiraled out of control. also i just adore the idea of full shift!scott.
> 
> many thanks to [gabbi](http://doctorlightwood.tumblr.com/) for the beta read!

Scott huffs and headbutts Stiles in the chest, which would be a whole lot more endearing if he wasn’t currently a predator the size of a small horse. It’s still pretty cute, though.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles mutters, reaching up to scratch the giant wolf behind his ears, “I’m hurrying.” Grabbing Scott’s backpack, he closes the door of the jeep. “Where to?”

Scott whines and headbutts him again, then lowers his head to lick at the fabric covering Stiles’ left knee. He really isn’t the best communicator while in his fully shifted form.

If it was something really important, Scott would have transformed back to his human body and used English to explain what he wanted. But no, Scott is staying furry, and probably getting that chocolate-colored fur all over Stiles’ jacket as he nuzzles against him. Stiles indulges Scott’s cuddly tendencies for moment before pushing him away, and the wolf crouches, looking up hopefully.

“You want me to ride you? Come on, Scotty, we tried this sophomore year. I almost broke my arm when you dropped me.”

Scott huffs and cocks his head as if to say, _I’m not a kid anymore, Stiles, I can do this_. He’s so lucky that Stiles knows him well enough to understand him when he can’t talk. If they didn’t have years of BFF telepathy to draw on, Stiles would’ve given up trying to interpret the wolf a long time ago.

“Grown up my ass,” Stiles tells him. “You still look like an overgrown puppy to me.”

Scott whines. It’s pitiful. He has _literal_ puppy eyes. Stiles’ resistance crumbles.

Tail wagging, Scott crouches lower to the ground so Stiles can climb onto his back. He feels remarkably secure there, even as Scott rises to his full height, but Stiles still grabs handfuls of the soft, thick fur between the wolf’s shoulder blades to hold onto. No need to repeat the mistakes of 10th grade. Scott certainly has grown physically since then, standing nearly five and a half feet at the shoulders now, almost a foot taller in his wolf form than when he was first bitten. Stiles isn’t sure whether the growth has more to do with maturation or becoming an alpha. Maybe it’s a combination of both.

Scott sets off through Beacon Hills Preserve at an easy lope. It’s a surprisingly comfortable ride, and Stiles briefly wonders if he’s practicing this with someone else. Maybe he is – Stiles hasn’t physically seen Scott for months, but there’s no reason why he would have left out telling another person about his lycanthropy from their near-daily skype chats. He’d told Stiles about the vampire in his Biology class and his encounter with the local alpha who approached him as soon as he moved onto the UC Davis campus. Stiles has no reason to think Scott is keeping supernatural-related news from him.

Still, they haven’t yet had a chance to talk even now that Stiles is back in Beacon Hills for summer break. Stiles arrived home late in the afternoon and barely had time to unpack before receiving Scott’s _Come outside. I have a surprise for you_ text, and then he was getting bowled over by a giant wolf and licked half to death. “I missed you too, bro,” he’d told Scott’s fangy approximation of a grin before he was presented a slightly slobbery backpack and pushed towards the jeep. Scott had forgone the car ride in favor of racing alongside the jeep in wolf form, red eyes flashing under the light of the rising full moon. Scott looked so alive and happy then, more sure of himself than when they’d parted at the beginning of the school year, off to different colleges and headed in different directions for the first time since they met.

Stiles reaches up to scratch behind Scott’s ears. He lets out an excited huff, picking up the pace. Ahead of them, Stiles can hear a wolf howl, then another, and he grins as Scott echoes their calls.

“That was the surprise, right? Pack reunion?”

Scott’s affirmative is drowned out by the sound of a grey wolf crashing through the trees in front of them. He circles around them, wagging his tail excitedly and almost unseating Stiles as he shoulder-checks Scott.

“Hey!” Stiles yelps, and Scott growls softly. They all know it’s entirely for show. “Good to see you, Liam.”

The wolf grins, exposing fangs that easily could – and have – tear through human flesh. Stiles isn’t worried in the slightest. When not faced with an imminent threat, Scott and his beta’s wolves have the temperaments of golden retriever puppies.

That was slightly disconcerting at first, because Scott was always an affectionate human being, but not quite as _cuddly_ as he was when shifted, until Derek had explained that it was a wolf thing. A _Pack_ thing. Scott’s wolfy instincts trying to show his love for them. For Stiles.

Stiles isn’t actually quite sure when he realized it. That Scott loves him. Not just in the way they’ve always loved each other, but actually _loves_ him. He almost doesn’t know what to do with it, because when Scott loves someone, he goes all in. Scott doesn’t physically know how to do anything other than world-altering, earth-shattering, forever-and-always-until-we-die love. For Allison, for Kira, and now for Stiles.

Some days it feels like a warm blanket wrapped around him, because Scott looks at him like he hung the moon during their video chats. Like when he looks at Stiles he sees something beautiful and incredible and worthy. And some days it feels like a weight on his shoulders, because Scott is _everything_ , and Stiles wants to give him everything so much that it hurts. Stiles wants to hold him and keep him, wants to claim this good thing as his. It’s almost too much.

Scott whines inquisitively, as if he knows Stiles is thinking too hard. Maybe he does. Chemo signals, and all. Or maybe it’s just that Scott can read him the way he can read Scott.

Bounding ahead, Liam disappears between two trees, and Stiles can see yellow light flickering ahead, hear voices spilling out of the clearing. Scott pauses to let him dismount, then nudges Stiles forward towards their friends.

“You really got the band back together, huh?”

Everyone’s there.

Lydia, dressed to the nines in a perfectly styled beginning-of-summer outfit. Malia, resting her head on Lydia’s toes, coyote form small compared to the oversized wolves but still far larger than a real coyote had any right to be. Hayden – the only werewolf still in a human shape – and Mason, laughing at Liam’s antics. Derek in the shape of a jet black wolf almost as large as Scott. Even Isaac, who Stiles hadn’t heard from since he’d fucked off to France, is curled in front of the campfire, allowing Lydia to play with his pale grey coat. Everyone, that is, except Kira.

It’s clear the rest of the pack knows who Stiles is looking for as he scans the circle. Lydia shakes her head, subtly reinforcing what Stiles had already assumed – Kira’s absence isn’t a topic to bring up.

Stiles takes a seat at one of the logs pulled up to encircle the fire, shrugging off the backpack. He correctly assumes it will contain a change of clothes for Scott, and passes them off. While Scott disappears into the trees he digs deeper, discovering skewers, three packages of hotdogs, a box of graham crackers, bags of marshmallows, and more than a dozen chocolate bars. Stiles grins. So it’s a real old-fashioned campfire, then.

“There’s a bag of jumbo marshmallows for you,” Scott says, zipping up his hoodie as he takes a seat on the log next to Stiles. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Stiles leans into his warmth without conscious thought.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said to me since I got back,” Stiles informs him, grinning as he digs back into the bag. He’s extraordinarily pleased at Scott remembering the jumbo marshmallows are his favorite. Regular size just doesn’t taste as good.

“That’s not true. I said ‘hi’.”

“You barked, bro.” Stiles tosses one of the hotdog packs at his head.

Scott laughs softly, catching the package and tearing it open. They begin the process of skewering the hotdogs and pass them around the circle until everyone with hands is holding two.

Conversation finally builds as they re-familiarize themselves with each other, with being a pack again after their time apart. The newer members adjust to the presence of Derek and Isaac, who are obviously still figuring out if and where they fit into the new dynamic. Everyone laughs when Mason catches a hotdog on fire in the process of telling a joke about a werewolf and vampire walking into a bar. Liam eats it anyway, snapping the charcoal-colored piece of meat right off the skewer. His expression of disgust at the taste has Scott cracking up, burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder as he laughs.

They only realize Scott forgot buns once the first hotdogs are finally ready. Stiles’ idea to use the graham crackers is shot down instantly by Lydia, despite his protests of _I know it sounds gross but it might be delicious_.

In the end they eat right off the skewers. Well, anyone with a people mouth does. Scott starts a feeding frenzy by throwing a hotdog at Isaac, who catches it right out of the air and grins toothily. Within seconds Isaac and Liam are racing around the outside of the circle, snapping up hotdogs thrown into the air. Lydia whips out her phone the moment Malia joins them, using her smaller size and superior speed to literally steal the hotdogs from right under their noses. Stiles is pretty sure their full moon antics would make the whole pack internet famous if not for the risk of exposing the supernatural community. Mason and Hayden – who seems content watching the other wolves play – are relegated to hotdog preparation duty while Scott and Stiles throw. Derek is the only one not participating, but Stiles suspects he’s secretly laughing his ass off at them.

They settle down a little after exhausting the first two packages.

“You can go play with your pack, man,” Stiles tells Scott, skewering another hotdog in preparation for the next round. “I don’t mind.”

Scott shakes his head, leaning his shoulder into Stiles’ with a soft smile. “I’m happy here with you.”

He doesn’t even seem to realize the full implications of what he’s said, but Stiles can’t stop grinning like an idiot. A piece of his heart Stiles didn’t even realize was missing slots into place in his chest. There’s something so undeniably right about them sitting together, side by side, partners in crime and hotdog throwing. It’s as if the past year of separation has been washed away by this moment of togetherness. Of _them_ the way they were intended to be.

They’re back to being ScottandStiles.

Malia’s head perks up a second before Lydia gasps, sounding surprised, but not even a little scared. Stiles sees absolutely nothing until a familiar figure steps out of the night and into the light of their fire.

“Am I late?” Kira asks.

“I wasn’t even sure if you got my invitation,” Scott informs her. He’s smiling like a child on Christmas, and Stiles knows it’s because Scott’s whole pack is finally together again.

“I wasn’t sure I did, either. I just had a _feeling_ I needed to be here. It took a while to convince the skinwalkers to let me leave on a feeling.”

“There’s still some hotdogs left,” Stiles offers. There’s something bitter twisting in his chest about the way Scott is looking at Kira, but he tries his best to push it down. There’s no use being jealous. Scott loved Kira, Scott maybe still loves Kira, but they’ve broken up and laid the relationship to rest.

They finish the rest of the hotdogs in a slightly less dramatic manner than the first batch. Derek does, however, finally concede to catching a few. How he still manages to look broody while chasing flying hotdogs is beyond Stiles.

“No opposable thumbs, no s’mores,” Scott solemnly declares. One by one the wolves and coyote disappear into the trees and reappear as humans in various states of undress.

As Scott begins passing out ingredients, Stiles takes the opportunity to steal the entire jumbo marshmallows bag. No one protests – they all know by now that Stiles can and will eat an entire bag of marshmallows. It’s his supernatural ability. Who need claws and fangs when you can eat enough junk food to make even a werewolf sick, right?

Much to Stiles’ disgust, Scott catches his marshmallows on fire instead of just toasting them like a normal person. They’ve fought about proper s’mores procedure since the day they met and it seems today is no exception.

“Scott, that’s disgusting,” Stiles points out reasonably as Scott loads a charred marshmallow onto his s’more. “This,” he displays his own perfectly crisped treat, browned on the edges and gooey in the middle, “is how it’s done.”

“That takes too much time, Stiles. You’ve made like one in the time I can make three.”

“Three disgraces to the word s’mores. It’s _worth it_ , Scotty. Quality over quantity.” To prove it, Stiles hands Scott his marshmallow masterpiece. Sacrificing one of his jumbo marshmallows is absolutely worth the beatific smile Scott gives him. Even if he does refuse to admit Stiles is right.

This is the happiest Stiles has seen Scott on a full moon since he was bitten. He’s completely in his element, surrounded by the people he cares about.

Liam, Hayden, and Mason leave first, because even after everything they’ve seen and been through, they’re still teenagers with curfews and families who worry too much. It’s nice, really, to see that little bit of normalcy in the midst of it all.

The party quiets down a little, after. They exchange stories as the moon reaches its peak and then slowly sinks back towards the horizon. Isaac tells them about France, Kira about life with the skinwalkers. Derek has dozens of stories about the creatures he and Braeden and Cora met, some of them so fantastical Stiles thinks he might be making it up just to mess with everyone. Lydia, unsurprisingly, is top of her class at MIT, and is adored for her astonishing ability to predict pop quizzes. Malia hasn’t picked a college yet, or decided if she even wants to, but she sounds happy about taking a year to see what the world has to offer. It’s all free, anyway, paid for by the remainder of Peter’s money. She’s become surprisingly world-savvy for someone who spent most of their life in coyote form.

“I love you all, but I am not sleeping in the woods,” Lydia informs them eventually, collecting her things and zipping her jacket.

Isaac rises as well. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers. Stiles almost expects Lydia to protest that she doesn’t need protecting, but she just smiles. He guesses that by now she knows the pack offers out of affection, because she protects them just as much as they protect her.

It’s only a few minutes before Malia leaves too, citing that she also cares about them, but has had enough socialization for one night. Derek slips away at about the same time, patting Scott on the shoulder as he leaves. Stiles thinks he might be proud of the Alpha Scott has become.

Then it’s just Scott, Stiles, and Kira around the dying fire. Stiles notices for the first time that Kira looks older now, more mature. Not just physically, but in the way she moves and carries herself, in the way she rises gracefully from her seat.

“Are you going back?” Scott asks. He sounds sad but resigned, like he’s accepted that Kira was never going to stay in Beacon Hills.

“I have to,” she replies, “I’m not done learning yet, but I’m making progress.” She holds up her hand, fingers spread, and lightning arcs between them. It’s such a tiny thing, just a glimpse of the power Kira wields and how much better she can control it.

She leans in to brush a kiss against Scott’s cheek. “Bye Scott, bye Stiles.”

Kira is almost out of the clearing before Stiles realizes she’s snagged the remainder of his jumbo marshmallows. “Hey!” he protests, indignant.

“The skinwalkers don’t approve of processed food,” Kira calls as she disappears into the night, taking his marshmallows with her.

Scott chuckles softly, and Stiles elbows him to shut him up. “Come on, man, this is serious! She took my food. You don’t just take a man’s food!”

“Here.” Scott passes him the last regular-sized marshmallow. It’s not the same, but Stiles eats it anyways. He’ll accept boring, plain marshmallows for Scott.

They’re silent for a while as Stiles chews and Scott stirs the dying embers. It’s comfortable, familiar. The kind of silences they used to have all the time, when they wanted to be around each other but just didn’t feel like talking. That surprises people – learning that Stiles actually enjoys the silences he doesn’t feel like he has to fill. He’s never _needed_ to be loud around Scott in the same way he does with other people.

“This was good, right?” Scott asks slowly, turning to face him. They’re still pressed together at the hip, their faces only inches apart. Stiles sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to pull away.

“The best,” agrees Stiles.

In the low light of the dying fire, Scott looks almost unreal. Like he’s something fantastical and beautiful and entirely made up, brought to life by Stiles’ imagination. This is first time in months he’s seen Scott’s face through anything but a shitty skype connection, and he wants nothing more than to drink in his dorky, loving smile. Stiles is overwhelmed by a rapid swell of affection and the sudden, stupid urge to kiss that smile right off Scott’s face.

So he does.

Kiss Scott, that is. When he pulls away Scott is still smiling, possibly even wider than before.

Determined, Stiles leans in again, tilting his head to find the perfect angle. As their mouths slot together, he brings a hand up to cradle Scott’s head, winding his fingers through curly dark hair. Scott’s tongue traces over his lower lip and Stiles opens his mouth, eager to let Scott in.

Scott kisses just like Stiles imagined he would -- gentle, but passionate and determined. It feels as if in that moment, he has Scott’s entire focus on him, on the way their lips connect and their tongues slide together.

When they eventually break apart, Stiles presses his forehead to Scott’s, gasping for breath.

“I love you,” he finally says, unable to keep in anymore. He almost wants to shout it from the rooftops, tell everyone in the world, but that kind of unfiltered romanticism is more Scott’s thing.

Joy is written all over Scott’s face, mixed in with affection and surprise. There shouldn’t be any surprise, Stiles thinks, he shouldn’t be surprised that anyone loves him. Scott McCall is almost too easy to love.

“I love you, too,” Scott whispers.

“I know.”

Scott blinks, pulling back to grin at Stiles. “Did you just Star Wars me?”

“You – you finally watched them? Without me? You asshole!” Stiles sputters. He’s not actually sure whether he’s really upset or not, because he’s been trying to get Scott to watch Star Wars for _years_.

Scott has the decency to look appropriately shamed. “I missed you, and it reminded me of you. I wanted to surprise you.”

Just like that, Stiles’ ire is out the window, leaving behind nothing but a desire to wrap Scott in his arms and never let him go. He pulls Scott in for another kiss, laughing as their lips meet. It’s clumsy, and it would probably the awkward if it was anyone else, but this feels like _them_. Just another aspect of the epic ScottandStiles bromance turned romance.

“Come on,” Scott says, “we should probably go too.”

Stiles stamps out the fire and gathers their things as Scott strips down in preparation to transform. It’s an awe inspiring sight, his tanned skin and sculpted body shifting into the form of giant wolf. Scott’s wolf is beautiful, dark chocolate fur with hints of red covering a powerful frame. The effect is absolutely ruined when Scott has the audacity to wink a glowing red eye at him. “Don’t get cocky,” Stiles tells him, stuffing Scott’s sweats into the backpack.

It’s too dark now for Stiles to see much, even with the light of the full moon, but he trusts Scott with his life. He leans low over the wolf’s back, inhales smoke and pine and the dry, autumnal scent that’s just _Scott_. Stiles thinks he could fall asleep like this if Scott wasn’t running, faster than he had before, ghosting over the forest floor. They arrive back at the jeep in minutes and Scott transforms for the last time.

Stiles digs into the backpack for Scott’s sweatpants, grinning when Scott looks askance for his sweatshirt. “What? I get to look now.”

“You can do more than look.” Scott backs him up against the side of the jeep, lips slotted against Stiles’, hand sliding under his shirt. Stiles isn’t sure when Scott transformed from (admittedly very hot) goof to sexy makeout god, but he’s sure as hell not complaining. Scott mouths at his jawline, lips and tongue and just a touch of teeth, and Stiles tilts his head back for easier access. Yeah, definitely not complaining.

Scott kisses a spot on Stiles’ collarbone like he’s determined to leave a mark, one hand sliding into the waistband of his jeans. Stiles strokes his hands along Scott’s back, digging in his nails a little because it makes Scott moan against his skin and –

“Did you just _rip my shirt_?” It comes out about an octave higher than Stiles intended.

“It’s, uh, it’s the full moon. I got carried away.” Scott doesn’t look even a little sorry.

“I thought you had that under control.”

“I’m a little distracted.”

Stiles can feel the evidence of that distraction against his hip, and as much as he would absolutely _love_ to let Scott get even more carried away _right now_ , there’s a perfectly good backseat about six feet away from them.

“Get in the jeep,” Stiles says, pushing himself up and off the door. Scott does in an instant, yanking the door open with so much enthusiasm Stiles actually worries about the hinges, then he’s climbing over the center console and pulling his sweats off in one swift motion.

After a show like that, Stiles barely has the presence of mind to grab the backpack he must have dropped at some point, throwing it into the driver’s seat before stripping off his sweatshirt and the remains of his shirt. It’s split right down the middle. As he pulls it off, Scott watches him hungrily, eyes dark.

“That was my fifth favorite t-shirt,” Stiles informs him, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down. He’s well aware that his erection is visible through his boxers, but hey, Scott’s already naked, and he sure doesn’t seem to mind. His whole body is on display, from the soft pink flush of his cheeks and chest to the deeper color of his cock. Which he’s casually stroking as he watches Stiles strip, like having sex in the back of the jeep is just a normal, everyday thing for them.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Stiles finally manages to shove off his jeans and shoes, and practically vaults over the console into Scott’s lap. His efforts are rewarded with Scott’s hands clutching at his hips, thumbs slipping below the waistband of his boxers. Scott stares at him for a moment, pupils blown wide and gaze hungry, looking at Stiles like this is everything he’s ever wanted or needed. They’re barely touching but Stiles is drunk on this, foreheads pressed together, his hands clutching at Scott’s shoulders as they breathe the same air. He can feel Scott’s cock against his through the thin fabric of his boxers and Stiles _wants_.

“You look so good,” whispers Scott, his previous bravado gone. Stiles leans in and kisses him, slow and deep, tongues sliding against each other.

Their previous urgency slips away as Stiles sucks on Scott’s lower lip and grinds down against him, taking the time to drink in the sound of Scott’s moans. It’s his turn to leave his marks on Scott, even if they fade as soon as he lifts his mouth away. Stiles works his way down Scott’s chest to his right nipple, meticulous in the way he is with all important things.

Scott’s moans echo through the otherwise silent air as Stiles kisses across his chest to the other nipple, sucking gently and then biting, less gently. It’s just another investigation, trial and error to see what Scott likes, discover all the noises he makes when Stiles touches him. He sounds _wrecked_ , and Stiles hasn’t even gone near his dick yet.

“Stiles, _please_.” Scott pulls him up for a kiss, licking into his mouth. One of Scott’s hands slides around from his hip to cup Stiles through his boxers. Stiles has never hated a piece of fabric more than in this moment. He wants Scott’s hand on him, like, yesterday.

Pulling away, Scott stares deep into Stiles’ eyes. “I’m gonna rip your boxers off.”

“A warning this time, that’s progress,” Stiles quips, lifting his hips, and then Scott shreds the fabric like it’s tissue paper and drops the ruined underwear on the floor. He should probably be worried about having claws so close to his dick, but that’s – that’s hot as fuck.

“Wow,” Stiles whispers. Looking far too pleased with himself, Scott wraps his hand around Stiles’ cock and strokes, base to tip, rubbing his thumb over the head and through Stiles’ precome. Stiles moans, burying his head in the crook of Scott’s neck and grinding down against him. Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, Scott wraps his hand around both their cocks. The feeling of Scott against him and his hand around them is incredible, and Stiles has to kiss him, has to show him how good this is.

Scott’s eyes are screwed shut so Stiles seizes the initiative and bites at his lower lip, soothing over the mark with his tongue when Scott makes a soft noise. They kiss frantically as Scott jacks them off with a single-minded determination, and it’s all Stiles can do to clutch at Scott’s shoulder and wind fingers through his hair.

“Stiles,” Scott gasps out, the rhythm of his thrusts faltering, and Stiles knows he’s close.

Their kissing has devolved into gasping into each other’s mouths as Scott strokes them and they thrust together. His other hand is clutching desperately at Stiles’ hip like he’s trying to hold onto something.

“Come on, Scotty,” Stiles pants. He’s so close, losing his mind to the pleasure shooting up and down his spine. Tangling his fingers in Scott’s hair, he pours his desperation into a sloppy kiss. “Come for me.”

Scott gasps and his thrusts stutter. He looks beautiful when he comes, pleasure painted across his face. Watching his release tips Stiles over the edge as he rocks into Scott’s hand, adding to the mess of come already on their stomachs.

“Oh my god,” Scott says, leaning forward to bury his face in Stiles’ neck. “That was…”

“Incredible? Spectacular? The best sex of your life?”

“Mmmh,” Scott replies eloquently, and Stiles has to agree. He’s loose and sated, all the tension leaking out of his body as he basks in the feeling of Scott pressed against him. They kiss lazily for a while, hands exploring each other with no real purpose.

It’s absolutely incredible until the cooling come on his stomach starts to get gross, so Stiles rises from his seat on Scott’s lap to find the shredded scraps of his boxers. They’re absolutely unsalvageable, but they do make a great rag.

Tossing Scott his sweats, Stiles pulls on his own jeans, sans underwear. As nice as naked cuddles with Scott is, he has about zero desire to sleep in the backseat of his jeep, which means he needs to be the responsible adult and put his pants back on to drive them home.

Scott laughs at Stiles’ dismayed expression as he picks up the remains of his fifth favorite shirt. He looks far too pleased with himself, lounging there on Stiles backseat as if he hadn’t just destroyed multiple items of clothing.

“You thought it was hot,” he insists at Stiles’ glare. That is, unfortunately, very true.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” Stiles informs him.

“Yeah, I am.”

Scott’s grin is infectious, and Stiles can’t help smiling as he climbs over the console, into the driver's seat. “I hope you know you’re sleeping over tonight.”

“I don’t get a say in it?”

“Nope.” Stiles starts the jeep and Scott buckles himself in. “You can cuddle me as payback for ripping my clothes.”

Scott pretends to ponder the deal for a moment. “That sounds fair.”

The full moon shines just above the trees as Stiles drives them out of the preserve. They’ve been out here this late before, although usually for far more depressing reasons. This time, Scott reaches over to lace their fingers together. They’ve been building towards this for a long time, maybe even since they met, and Stiles can’t deny how _right_ it finally feels to hold Scott’s hand. It’s as if they were meant to be together all along, as if they’ve always been two halves of a whole but they’re just now realizing how well they fit together. Scott and Stiles have already loved and fought and risked life and limb for each other, done everything that couples do without actually being a couple.

This is nothing more than the logical next step.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated. this was my first teen wolf fic, so i hope i got the boys right.
> 
> catch me on tumblr at [kirasscott](http://kirasscott.tumblr.com/).


End file.
